We stood there (Patreon)

for a few moments simply soaking in the ambience. Percysthorpe looked a lot different in person than it did from my scrying tower! I also had to bear in mind that I had last seen it approximately 200 years ago, and the lowfolk world changed faster than Faerie did.

After a while, the witches began to shuffle impatiently, and Rebecca asked: “Um, So, My Lord, what next?”

“We’ve been thtanding here for quite thome time,” Basil pointed out.

“People are starting to stare,” Fiona declared nervously.

“Probably because SOME of us are wearing cheap All Hallow's Eve costumes,” Harriet remarked drily.

“HEY!” Fiona exclaimed.

“Take that back!” Basil demanded.

“Girls, please," Rebecca sighed. "No fighting! Behave!”

"Now now," Burnside interjected. “Let the gals express they feelins. Taint healthy to keep it bottled up. Get it all outten yo system! Any yall wanna borry a knife?”

“You’re not helping!” Rebecca retorted.

“Hush!" I exclaimed. "All of you! I know there's a Gate to Persoc Tor here, but I don’t know where it is or what it looks like. Burnside, the Duchess used to have her operations here. Do you have any idea were the Gate is?”

"Nope. Never had no business in Persoc, so the Gateway never come up."

“We should split up!” I proposed excitedly, seeing a chance to get away from these bickering femmes for a while and also speed up the search. “Burnside and Rebecca, you should take the students and ask around about any old ruins or landmarks. That should lead us in the right direction. Pretend you're a group of tourists seeing the sights. Meanwhile, I’ll be conducting research of my own. Let’s all meet back here in two hours.”

"Nothin' doin," Burnside snapped. "As a duly designated Imperial Bodyguard, I gotta stay by yo side so as to guard yo Imperial Body."

"All right," I shrugged. "Burnside, come with me. Rebecca, take charge of the student group. Be back here in front of the train depot in two hours."

As Burnside and I strolled down the street, I wondered if that bookstore the shoe-obsessed weirdo robbed was still there. In all probability, it was long gone. It was odd how quickly the lowfolk world changed. Owter was right; the Lowfolk were advancing faster than the elves. They had gone from ant-carts and rushlights to steam-powered trains and gas-powered streetlamps after only 200 years. I used to think lowfolk lived tragically short lives, but maybe that just meant they found fulfillment at a faster rate. Maybe their short lives compelled them to adapt and improve in a hurry so they would see some results before they died. Maybe having a shorter life made time that much more precious. There was a lesson to be learned here! Perhaps… Perhaps the elven perception of lowfolk was misguided. Maybe it was wrong to write them off the way we-

“Oh, there it is!” I exclaimed as I recognized a section of the street in front of me.

The enigmatic name on the window started to make sense after we went inside (though if I were in charge I would have called it "The Flagon on the Flyleaf." Burnside's suggestion "Books -n- Brew" was not bad either). The bookstore seemed to have expanded and changed its business model and become a Reading Pub. Patrons were encouraged to enjoy a pint while they read their newly-purchased books. Thinking that I might be able to find some books about local history and folklore that could point me towards the Gate, I began to peruse the shelves. I wouldn’t mind a drink too, while I was here.

It didn't take long to find, to my disappointment, that most of the reading material here consisted of penny dreadfuls and lurid stories of the “steamy” variety. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. An establishment that encouraged its patrons to get drunk while reading probably wouldn’t have anything educational. Oh well. After telling Burnside to put Sid the Slasher and The Highwayman of the North Country back where she found them, I headed to the bar to get a drink.

In the pub area, I beheld a collection of all different sorts of people guzzling ale while trying to focus long enough to decipher a sentence or two in their acquired literature. Truly, inebriation and cheap fiction had the power to bring lowfolk from all walks of life together. My eye was drawn to a surly-looking hound sitting alone at a table in the center of the room. He kept glancing around, as if expecting someone, and had a large pin on his shirt that bore a slogan I could not quite make out. Surely this person would be a fount of information! I bought a pint of stout and sat down at the same table.

“So… This is an interesting place,” I began, deciding to ease into my line of questioning slowly, so as to avoid raising any suspicion.

“M’yeah…” the hound replied.

“Do you come here often?”

“M’yeah…”

“Nice weather today.”

“M’yeah…”

“So…" I hazarded, after a surreptitious peek at the badge on his lapel. "Tell me about ... FNIA Fanfic?”

“Oh!" the hound exclaimed, suddenly perking up. "You mean the latest masterwork of fiction by the renowned author and artist Tegerio W. Tegerius? It’s a bold new re-imagining of a re-imagining of classic well-known characters! A young, innocent femme in a skimpy costume must navigate a hazardous new work environment filled with dangerous but alluring automatons in skimpy costumes! Her curious nature leads her down a path of dark mystery, skimpy costumes, and intrigue! It has everything you could want! Action! Mystery! Romance! Skimpy costumes! Living, Talking Machines! Plus lovingly crafted scenes of gratuitous and fatal mechanical venery! It’s an ingeniously crafted story that will revolutionize the entire genre of fiction! Ongoing now with daily updates! And it’s available exclusively here at the Texty Tumbler! Beat the rush! Read FNIA Fanfic today!”

I stared in bewilderment as the suddenly ebullient hound slid a card across the table towards me, while saying something I didn't quite catch, that sounded like "Here, you are Earl."

“Did someone pay you to say all that?” I asked, after looking at the card and seeing that it bore a strange cipher: https://sprocketholevandal.tumblr.com/tagged/fnia/chrono 

“M’yeah…” he grumbled, slouching back into his former surly attitude.

“Okay," I stalled. I hadn't introduced myself when I sat down. Was this coded message meant for someone named Earl, who this fellow mistakenly believed I was? Or was pretending to be Earl the key to admittance to some secret club, a sinister society of anonymous Earls, all of whom were enjoyers of skimpy costumes and dangerous venery with machines? I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. "Can you tell me if there's an ancient circle of standing stones somewhere in this town?"

"M'yeah..." he replied. "You wanna see the Old Stones, go left out the door, turn right at the second crossing, up the hill, through the alley and it's in a little green behind the magistrate's house. Lot of strange folk come lookin' for the Old Stones lately. Dressed kinda strangely yourself. You some kind of fancy lad?"

"I'd best be on my way," I declared abruptly, getting up and striding toward the door. "Thank you for the directions!"

"M'yeah..."

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